


And they were roommates

by ravenpuff1956



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Drama, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Robin and Charlotte are roommates, Typical uni student humour, enjoy, i don't really know what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenpuff1956/pseuds/ravenpuff1956
Summary: Perhaps it's the fact she hasn't seen Matthew in days. Or it's the air of confidence this 'Strike' carries, despite the fact he can only be a couple of years older than her.He moves something in her- it's hard to explain.Robin finds herself feeling something that inexplicitly feels like envy churning in her gut that he happens to find girls like Charlotte more attractive that girls like, well, her.
Relationships: Charlotte Campbell Ross/Cormoran Strike, Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 43
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Have I only watched this series once? Yes. Do I really know what I'm talking about? Hell no. 
> 
> But still- I hope people enjoy!!

At the seventh insistent knock on her door, Robin finally slams down her textbook.

It's ten o'clock at night, and her eyes are tired and sore. She covers her mouth, struggling to hold back a yawn and picks her way over to her shoe-box apartments front door. 

She swings it open to reveal a man, frowning angrily about two inches below her nose, clearly expecting someone else.

Robin raises her eyebrows as the guy visibly startles at her appearance. And she knows it's not because of her sweat pants, crisp crumbed covered woolen jumper and ratty pony-tail. 

"You're..." The man says slowly his low voice gruff and disappointed. He's dressed up in the way that men do when they want to make a good impression ., but also don't expect to have their pants on very long. His cologne is a bit too strong, and his eyes a tad to eager. 

" _Not_ Charlotte," Robin says obviously, wrinkling her nose at the name of he, let's say, _interesting_ roommate. 

"You're Rachel," The man says, his eyebrows furrowed as if he'd just discovered some gruesome crime. 

"Robin," Robin corrects him tonelessly, crossing her arms over her chest. It's better than 'her' she supposes, which is what most of Charlotte's men call her when they run into her in the morning time. 

"Right, right," The man seems unbothered by his mistake. Instead he's rather rudely trying to peer over her shoulder, as if expecting to see a hint of her much prettier, much sexier, much more terrifying roomie. (Never again will Robin try to find someone to live with over Facebook- the least she expects is for Charlotte to pay rent on time for Christ's sake).

Robin patters her foot impatiently on the welcome mat: lovingly gifted to her by her mother, and carelessly tarnished by Charlotte's cigarette butts. 

The man _is_ attractive. If you're in to that dark, brooding thing most women go silly for. His dark hair is mused handsomely on his head and his stubble is styled enough to let Robin know he gives a slight shit about his appearance. Or perhaps just what Charlotte thinks of him. 

Despite herself, she has a boyfriend after all, Robin has to admit his eyes are _beautiful_. Though clearly distracted, they're mysterious, wry, and even kind if you look at them the right way.

It makes her want to draw him into a conversation.

Except he's clearly here to fuck her roommate, who went hours ago with her arm around someone know by the whole campus as 'Sleazy Sam'. He clearly has something wrong with him. 

"She's out, won't be back for a few hours at least," Robin's smile is slightly forced, as she attempts to sound apologetic. She clucks her tongue once or twice, but he still doesn't leave. If he's waiting for an invitation he won't be getting one.

"I think I've seen you round," He nods his head at her interestedly, "Psych yeah? Dr Barrow?" 

Robin pauses, her sweaty fingers wrapped around her doorknob. His dark eyes are looking her up and down and she feels almost vulnerable under his intense gaze. 

It's not like he's checking her out. More like he can look into her soul. Like he wants to uncover every inch of her. 

Robin shifts nervily, under the pressure but refuses to loose his eye contact.

"Yes," Robin says, seeing no cause to deny it, "I haven't seen you,"

And she hasn't despite weeks of lectures and classes. And this man seems like he would be difficult to miss. 

"Cormoran Strike," He says, and it takes Robin until he holds out a paw of a hand to realise that he's introducing himself. 

She takes it, hesitantly. It covers her small white one fully, and is scratchy when he squeezes, surprisingly lightly. 

"Robin," Robin repeats herself stupidly; her tiredness and excessive amounts of red-bull clearly rotting her brain cells. 

Perhaps it's the fact she hasn't seen Matthew in days. Or it's the air of confidence this 'Strike' carries, despite the fact he can only be a couple of years older than her. 

He moves something in her- it's hard to explain. Robin finds herself feeling something that inexplicitly feels like envy churning in her gut that he happens to find girls like Charlotte more attractive that girls like, well, her. 

She lets go first, and wipes her hand on the soft fabric of her pants, ignoring the pounding in her heart.

"I know," Strike says, his lips curled up in clear amusement, his face lightening for a quarter of a second before falling back into glumness.

' _I'm blushing,_ ' Robin curses herself angrily, ' _I've got a boyfriend! Why am I blushing!_ ' 

"Well, it's late," Robin half closes the door on him, "And I'm studying,"

"I'm happy to wait," Strike offers, sounding not at all tired and completely serious.

Robin frowns. She's not some train station men can wait at before they catch the main show. 

"I'm not," She asserts sternly, "I don't even know you,"

She watches, irritated, as Strike takes his sweet, sweet time considering her words. 

"Fair enough," Strike shrugs, pressing his hands in his pockets, "Please let Charlotte know I stopped by," He gives her a half-hearted nod of goodbye before wandering down her stairs and out into the wet night. 

Robin watches him go, her stomach twisting. Charlotte's always had a few guys on the go, for as long as she's known her. (A long, long three months). She's never felt the urge to warm any of her obsessive conquests before but-

"She's out with Sam tonight," Robin calls out behind him, her voice failing in the wind, "And this Daren guy a few nights before- just to let you know,"

She watches as Strike stills in the street. How his posture seems to harden as he wraps his coat tighter around him. 

"Thanks love," He replies just loud enough for her to hear, before he continues on his way.

Robin lets him go this time. Watches until she notices the chill on her toes and she quickly slams her door shut and turns the lock. 

Charlotte comes home at almost three, awakening a slumbering Robin with her laughter. By the accompanying sound of her male company Robin assumes her roomie won't mind her 'forgetting' to pass on Strikes message. 

After all it's really none of her business. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> New chapter! Hope everyone enjoys!

Robin is _always_ late to class.

She has a few well worn excuses. 

Forgot to set an alarm. (Not true). 

Charlotte drank all the milk and used up all of her expensive coffee. (Very true). 

The timetable changed suddenly. (Though really, who changes class times late on a Sunday night?)

However she never considers it an bad thing. Robin rather enjoys slipping into her seat at the back of the class when the professor has just begun to speak. It means she doesn't have to talk to anyone. Robin can peacefully turn on her computer, take notes and be first out the door when class finally ends.

And, on this particular Monday morning when she topples into her seat, unwinding her soft pink scarf from her neck, Robin doesn't expect this class to be any different. 

"I ticked your name off," Someone leans over to whisper in her ear. 

Robin almost jumps out of her skin, and bites tightly down on her lip to stifle a short surprised squeak. Disorientated she drops her bag on her toe, and swearing she whips her head round to glare to her right. 

"What?" Robin blinks once, then twice, "The _hell_?" 

Cormoran Strike smiles at her, before leaning back in his chair. 

He's wearing dark, well fitting jeans, and a dark blue shirt. He could be going into the office or into the night club, unlike the rest of the students who look like they've all just rolled out of bed.

He passes her over the admission sheet without looking at her. Robin peers down at their classes names to see that hers has indeed been ticked off. 

"Why did you do this?" Robin hisses at him, irrationally furious. His neat tick next to her name somehow feels a step too far from their brief conversation on her doorstep. 

He's left a place between them, but it still feels like they're sitting together. 

"I believe 'thank you' is more appropriate," Strike whispers back. He hasn't even bought a computer. Only a thin notebook and one black pen sit on his desk. 

Robin's face is burning. It's bad enough that the last time she saw him she behaved like a complete tit, but she didn't fulfill the one thing she promised him. 

"I don't know you!" Robin says, a little louder than she ever intended, "Go and sleep with my roommate instead of sitting beside me in class!"

Titters flood up from the lower seats and interested faces turn around to stare.

Robin watches Strike swallow with intent, his heavy jaw twisting.

"I think I'd rather sit next to you actually," He murmurs, heat radiating from his gaze, "I _think_ anyway," 

Robin's traitorous heart twists. How can a guy that looks like he could punch a blokes jaw in, also have the ability to look like a hurt puppy? 

"Ellacott. Strike," Dr Barrow raps her fingers irately on her wooden desk, "Can we discuss personal business outside of class please?"

"Of course, Professor," Strike turns away from Robin to agree loudly over the giggles that continue to circulate the room.

Robin slides down in her seat and attempts to become invisible. 

She barely listens to any of the lecture, even though she was looking forward to it. Strikes presence is far too loud beside her. His quickly scribbled note with with the word 'sorry' written in a messy scrawl does not help matters. 

Don't forget to nominate email me on whose your partner for the next big assignment," Dr Barrow manages to call out over the roar of a hundred odd students packing their books away. 

Robin is out the door in record speed. But to her disappointment and annoyance Mathew is not there to greet her as he promised. Every Monday they have a cup of coffee on campus, a small tradition that in their increasingly hectic schedules they manage to keep up with. 

When Robin stares down at the Mathewless pavement she finds herself longing for seemingly endless high school lunchtimes with her head in his lap, and weekends where they would spend almost every moment of free time together. 

They're adults now, with endless time and freedom, and Robin feels as though she never sees him. 

"God that was boring," Strike complains from behind her.

Robin spins round to see Strike hovering with the rest of the stragglers. He brings a still burning cigarette up to his lips and takes a long drag.

"Those things will kill you," Robin observes distastefully, as his face takes on a relaxed expression. 

"I know," Strike sing songs like it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

The thick scent of smoke fills the air and Robin rolls her eyes: never understanding the habit. Although there is something undeniably attractive about the way he rolls the thing around his large fingers. Nimble and familiar. 

"Charlotte hasn't mentioned you," Robin says, all in a rush, "If that's why you're..." She falters motioning to where he's still standing beside her, despite the rest of the class well and truly moving on now. 

She rocks back and forward on her toes, pretending like she's not trying to judge his reaction.

Strike drops his smoke on the sidewalk and crushes it with his shoe.

"Are you trying to _psychoanalyze_ me?" Strike asks her, completely straight. 

Robin's breath stutters, and she hurriedly tries to come up with an excuse until she sees the mirth shining in his eyes. 

"You prick!" Robin laughs despite herself, pushing him away playfully the ice between them finally breaking. 

Strike chuckles, a low deep thing that would make stronger women's toes curl. 

"I _wasn't,_ " Robin smiles, flipping her hair out of her face, " _Meaning_ to anyway," 

Strike makes an amused sound through his nose. His eyes flick back from her and to the pavement. Robin checks her phone. No missed calls. No missed messages. Not even an emoji from Mathew. 

"You waiting for someone?" Strike asks interestedly, leaning over her shoulder to where she sits perched on Mathews lap on her phone screen. 

"My boyfriend," Robin says, hating herself for the sudden smug smile she puts on, on some sort of weird reflex.

Clearly not the best boyfriend since he's obviously late.

"Ahh," Strike muses quietly, seemingly to himself, his face closing off into it's usual slightly bored mask. 

The lapse into a long silence. Far too long for Robin's nerves. She adjusts the bag over her shoulder pretending she can't feel him not looking at her. 

"So," Robin has to start a conversation or she'll die of awkwardness, "You don't like the class?"

"Not really my cup of tea, no," Strike admits, shifting his grey coat closer around his person, "It will be useful though,"

"Really?" Robin asks intrigued. Most people who do Psychology don't know what the hell they're going to do with themselves after they finish- her included. 

"I want to be a detective," Strike admits gruffly, like she's going to laugh at him, "Solve mysteries and crimes and such," He looks peevish, but has a strong determination in his eyes that she finds attractively intimidating. 

Last time Matthew looked so determined they were fighting over the last chip. 

"Like a police officer," Robin asks, wrinkling her nose.

"No," Strike says immediately, his voice rough and almost angry.

"Right," Robin presses her lips together, not quite sure what she said to anger him. 

"What about you?" It looks like it's paining him to make the effort of casual chit-chat, "I'm assuming you're not planning to use this course to sus out all your roommate's 'playthings'" He scratches the back of his head self-deprecatingly. 

Robin smirks at the sudden imagine of this broad-shouldered bloke being squeezed into a collar on a leash.

"I like figuring people out I suppose," Robin smiles lightly, tugging her scarf around her shoulders. 

"I have a feeling you'd be good at that, with or without a fancy piece of paper," Strike raises his eyebrows appreciatively up at her. 

Robin bites her lip, her cheeks blushing pink. It doesn't sound like a compliment, but it feels like one. 

"I can't help but feel this is _you_ , psychoanalyzing _me_ ," Robin teases him back, flushing with success as he taps his tongue on his top teeth. The flush of pink alights her chest with butterflies. 

"Maybe," Strike winks at her and Robin can't help but feel this is edging dangerously close to flirting.

"Robin!" Matthew calls out in greeting, one hand playing with his phone, the other held up in a wave. 

Robin looks round her cheeks flushing with surprised shame. Not that she's been caught doing anything.

It's just....

She looks over to where Strike bobs his handsome head sheepishly, a step and a half further away from her than he was.

_Just._

"I'd better," Robin motions weakly to Matt and Strikes bobs his head in understanding.

She quickly patters down the lecture theatre's steps and Matthew greets her with a chaste kiss. 

"Hiya," Robin says softly, as her boyfriend swings her arm around her. 

"Ellacott!" It's Strike, yelling down from the spot she left him. 

Robin looks back. As does Matthew, his ears pricked like a dog.

"Wanna be my partner for the Psych project?" He asks like he's surprised himself by doing so.

"Sure!" Robin calls back before she can think better of it.

Strike nods and it's hard to tell if he's glad or not. Robin watches as he lopes round the back of the lecture hall and towards the business buildings. He's got a strange sort of gait- lopsided almost, a permanent limp. Did Charlotte step on his heel with her razor sharp high-heel boots? 

She's brought back to earth by Matthew squeezing her hip.

"Who's he?" Matthew asks casually, although Robin is no longer blind to the possessive furrow in his brow.

"A classmate," Robin says bluntly, not in the mood to reassure, "And one of my roommates leg-overs," She's also not in the mood for an arguement.

"Runs through them quick, doesn't she our Charlotte," Matthew laughs, adequately pacified. 

Robin giggles absently. She can still smell Strike's cigarette smoke that's lingered in her hair. 

"He's old isn't he?" Matthew continues a tad disdainfully, "Older than us anyway,"

Robin looks at him strangely. Strike can't be older than twenty-five: not middle aged. 

"We're not exactly ancient Matt," Robin judges her newly turned twenty-two year old boyfriend with all of her twenty-one year old power. 

"I just mean it's strange to see an older guy doing something like Psychology at Uni," Matthew explains himself, pulling her tighter into his armpit, "It's such a girly science, if you can even call it that," 

"Hey!" Robin elbows him in the ribs, honestly offended by his condescension. Matthew continues to chuckle however, not noticing how she's been hurt by his spiteful words. 

"He wants to be a detective," Robin explains as they round the corner to their favorite coffee place, inexplicitly feeling the need to defend him. 

"And I want to be an astronaut," Matthew snorts, letting her go in order to open the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> New chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Robin tightens her grip around Matthew's bare shoulders. Her bed is old and squeaks with every movement. The lights have been turned off, their clothes carefully folded on her study chair. 

"Okay?" Matthew grunts thrusting furiously into her, his breath hot on her neck. 

"Okay," Robin gasps back. She ate to much pasta, and her stomach is groaning uncomfortably. 

She didn't really feel like sex tonight. But Wednesday night is their night, and it seems rude to waste it. 

Matthew comes with a groan. He kisses her wetly, before rolling off and onto his side. Robin catches her breath, her eyes still focused on the pasty white paint on her ceiling. She didn't come- but she's satisfied.

Mostly. 

"Gotta pee," Robin gently rolls out of bed, as to not disturb him. 

"Errpt," Mathew snores loudly, apparently already asleep. 

Robin considers him with fond disgust- he's never been able to shut his mouth when he sleeps. It's a recent thing, the snoring, and something she's already factored in as a part of her life going forward. 

Matthew has been her boyfriend since they were fifteen- both nervous and horny. Robin smiles at the memory. Teenage Matthew was eager and sweet. She was the envy of all her friends, as not only did she have a boyfriend to go to the movies with and snog in the library, but he seemed to actually give a shit about her in bed. They've spent many long hours finding out what works from them best, and when they decided to go to the same University together Robin was already thinking of what font they would use on their wedding invites. 

Adult Matthew however, Robin has found is rather set in his ways. Routine rules their life. There is no more surprise dates, no more heated kisses in the back of movie theatres or even on the couch if she's honest. He seems content in their mundane existence, but Robin can't help but feel an itch of discontentment. She feels, not like a swooning newly-wed, but like she's been married for a long twenty years. 

Matthew had suggested they moved in together for her last year of Uni- his second last- in preparation for what will surely be their future. But Robin quite desperately dissuaded him, finding another roommate to move into her small flat as soon as possible. 

It feels a little too much at the minute. A little too much like his ring is already on her finger. 

He lets out another loud snort, and rolls over, smushing his face into her pillow. Robin throws his shirt over her shoulders and scampers into her bathroom to pee. 

Thirsty, and not particularly eager to return to her noisy bedroom, Robin pads out into the kitchen. She finds herself too tired to get out a new glass, instead rinsing her old wine glass under the tap before chugging some water. 

" _So_ ," Charlotte's voice crawls knowingly out of their living room, "I hear you're becoming friends with _my_ Corm," 

Robin almost spits her water down her front. She places the wine-glass down with trembling fingers by the stem, and quickly double-checks that she remembered to pull on underwear (Thankfully she did). 

Charlotte leans gracefully against the doorway. One of her abnormally slim legs is crossed over the other, and her black lacy shift and dark hair gives Robin the impression that she's being watched by a giant, judgmental crow.

"Jesus Charlotte," Robin's heart is racing, and not just because her roomie came out of no where, "You scared the shit out of me," 

Charlotte seems unconcerned. She switches off the Netflix movie she had already placed on mute, and throws the remote haphazardly towards the couch where it lads with a dull thud. 

"How'd you meet him?" Charlotte asks with a snake like smile Robin _knows_ she only uses with women she plans to compete with. 

Grinding her teeth quietly, Robin wraps Matthew's shirt tighter around her, knowing she may be tumbling into extremely hot water. 

Men are not the only people Charlotte likes to chew up and spit out. 

In some ways, her intimidation factor is great. Robin doesn't get bothered in bars the rare time they go out together. The mailman doesn't deliver them useless spam. She's been given several 'cool point's' on campus by being seen to put up with her. 

Being on Charlotte's bad side however- that's not something Robin even wants to contemplate. 

"He's in my class," Robin says slowly, deciding it to be better to stick to the truth as much as possible, "We're working on a project together," 

Charlotte harrumphs, and Robin can practically see her brain ticking over, trying to find offence.

"Never really noticed him before if I'm honest," Robin takes on a casual air, leaning back against their sink nonchalantly, "Bit of a weird looking bloke, isn't he?" 

_Lying through your teeth now Ellacott._ Robin shakes away the thought irately. 

She watches her roommates eyes study her suspiciously, her dark, perfect brows narrowed. Robin keeps her face completely blank and tries not to think about the flames Strike's wink erupted in her belly. 

"He is a bit- although a bloody good fuck I don't mind telling you," Charlotte muses with a light giggle that causes Robin's hairs to stand on end, "He doesn't seem your type though," She raises an conspiratorial eyebrow. 

"No," Robin is hasty to agree, desperately hoping she can't see her flushed cheeks. 

The only person she's ever had sex with is Matthew. Not that she's thinking of having sex with Strike. No. No _not_ at all. 

But... perhaps something different would be nice. 

"Well good luck to you," Charlotte stretches her arms up over her head, ruffling her short dark bob, "He used to be fun, but he's become a bit of a bore recently,"

"Right," Robin laughs weakly, winding her fingers awkwardly together, "Well, night then,"

"Night," Charlotte grins at her, friendly again, "Don't be too loud with Matty-boy," She blows her a kiss, before leading the way up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Robin follows her dutifully, and shuts her bedroom door behind her gratefully. 

Matthew is still snoring soundly, his breaths long and deep. Robin dives back under the covers, her mind racing. 

She did not like that. Not at all. 

Sure, she's not going to deny it. She can see Strike's attraction. But she can see the attraction in celebrities like Tom Ellis and she's not about to jump on them. 

Is it worth getting close to someone that's going to put her on such thin ice with someone she _really_ does not want to cross? 

_Buzz, buzz._

Robin rolls restlessly over to pick up her phone which had lit up her small room.

_You have received a friend request from Cormoran Strike._

A photo of him leaned back in a pub seat, nursing a pint flashes on her screen. Someone has caught him in what she's sure is his limit for a smile: at least in photos. He's smoldering up at the camera, and it does stupid things to her insides. 

She accepts it after a few minutes, not wanting to seem like she's too eager. (Although why is he searching her on Facebook at one in the morning?!) 

Robin browses quickly through his page. He's got half as many friends as her, and hardly any photos. In fact Robin finds out almost nothing about him at all, besides his birthday and that he seems to have a sister. 

**_Hey_ **

It's him. Messaging her. Late at night. 

_This is fine, everything's fine,_ Robin tells herself as she goes back and forward about what to say. 

** _Hi_ **

Robin bites her thumb nail nervously, as the three little dots pop. Which is stupid. She shouldn't be nervous about a classmate messaging her a night. Especially when her boyfriend's snoozing beside her. 

**_Text me when you're free and we'll plan to meet up sometime. Get this assignment done._ **

Oh. Right. Of course. That's why he's texting her. Nothing more or less than an obligation to his grade. 

Robin's face is heated as she types out a simple reply, not quite wanting to delve into why she feels so disappointed. 

**_Sure thing. _ **

She pops her phone back on her bedside table, and tries to close her eyes. 

_Buzz, buzz._

Robin's hand reaches out, faster than is strictly necessary. 

**_Sometime soon Ellacott- I want to psychoanalyze you some more_ **

Robin dozes off with a silly little smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Next chapter is up!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Robin puffs heavily, as she struggles to run through campus. She said she'd meet Strike at 2:30, and it's almost 2:50. The line was far too long at her regular coffee place and traffic was horrendous. 

_He's going to think I don't care, or I messed up the time on purpose._ Robin's anxious mind goes round and round. 

_Why should I care what Cormoran Strike thinks?_ The more logical side of her subconscious argues back. 

"Shit," Robin swears under her breath as she rounds the corner, almost spilling her boiling drink all over herself. The messages between them, sent at all hours of the day, burn a hole in her pocket. 

She'd tell Matthew they were just chatting about Uni. Except she hasn't told her boyfriend she's been messaging Strike. Not that it should matter. Their chats are _mainly_ about their classes after all. 

So _why_ hasn't she told Matthew again? 

"Ellacott," Strike greets her from the top of the stairs, a worn brown satchel swung over one shoulder, "I thought I got the time wrong," He looks down at his wrist, where a broken looking watch lies. 

Robin grins at him apologetically as she climbs the stairs, letting her feet drag exaggeratedly on the final steps. 

"Sorry," She greets him, holding up her to-go cup, "Coffee is necessary for my brain to function," She laughs self-deprecatingly. 

Strike gives her what, _if_ she looked into it, could be a appreciative glance. Robin smiles at him again, before leading the way through the library doors. Yes, she wore her nice jeans today. But her cardigan is well worn, so like. It's fine. 

"I remember," Strike frowns at her in a teasing manner, before taking her drink off her, "Is it one of those caramel latte things?" He sniffs it, and Robin rolls her eyes trying to ignore how the nerves in her fingers buzzed where he brushed them. 

"Don't tell me you're one of those people who judges people on their drink tastes," Robin tries her best to reach for it back, but Strike holds it just out of reach.

"I don't," Strike immediately says, frowning at her like she's wounded him, " _Usually_ ," Robin clucks her tongue, playing along with their 'argument'. 

"I bet you always order black, but secretly want a hot chocolate with three marshmallows," She hisses a tad quieter, as the librarian makes no attempt to hide her distain for their 'antics'. 

"I prefer tea actually," Strike admits with a smirk, "Though I wouldn't say no to a drop of scotch," He sighs, turning her throw away cup over in his hand like it's some fancy glass. It's stupid, but Robin giggles despite herself. 

Of _course_ he likes scotch. She can easily see herself lounging next to him, chatting over a fireplace with a white wine in hand. They've slipped into friendship so easily. It's nice. Robin doesn't have many friends of her own anymore- they're her and Matthew's friends. 

"Give it back you _drunkard_ ," Robin waggles her fingers, and he finally relents places warm drink back in her cool hand. 

She sips her coffee gratefully, leading the way through the mostly empty building. The students are few, but she'd still rather sit in a place where they can talk freely without getting nasty side-eyes. Especially since they're probably already on their librarian's hit list.

"We're going all the way back _here?_ " Strike asks, his dark eyebrows furrowed devilishly. Robin turns to him questioningly. 

Personally she thinks it's the best spot in the entire library. The book shelves are thick and multiple ensuring that the few tables placed at the depths of the building are shielded. This, doubled with the fact that you can find everything you need on a computer these days, means Robin always sits at her favourite table.

"Yes," Robin states obviously, sliding into her favourite seat innocently. 

"Hmm," Strike grins seemingly to himself before flopping awkwardly down in the chair across from her. 

"What?" Robin asks, placing her phone on the table next to her, feeling uncomfortably like she's out of a joke. 

Strike leans forward towards her. The table isn't very big, and he feels very close. His eyes, as usual, are dark and intense, and Robin feels her mouth go dry. The book shelves around them rise up like a forest and she can't help but notice the atmosphere she has created for them is extremely intimate. 

"This the place couples often come when they want to, well," Strike grins, he actually smiles, " _Get off,_ " He says it like he's done it before. Like there's a reason he knows this rumor. 

Robin's feels her mouth tumble open.

The sudden image of her sitting on the table, with Strike between her thighs surfaces unprecedented. 

Strike laughs heartily as Robin stutters, taking out his macbook and switching it on. 

"I didn't mean _that_ ," Robin says, her fingers slipping round her own laptop, her cheeks as red as strawberries.

"Don't worry Ellacott," Strike says, a smidge apologetically, "I don't see you as an exhibitionist," His eyes are soft, the quirk of his lips warm.

Robin grinds her teeth together. He didn't say it as an insult. It's not even an insult in the slightest really. 

But the only sex she's had in the past year is missionary with socks on. If she started trying something new, for instance unbuttoning her shirt in a deserted park, Matthew would probably just offer her his jacket. 

The man sitting in front of her however...

Robin bites her bottom lip, quickly tapping in her password, ignoring how her chest alights at the thought of thick large fingers working on the thin buttons of her blouse. 

Her desktop opens, and a picture of her laughing in Matthew's lap shines up at her from her screen. 

_I'm such a bad person_ , Robin thinks to herself, guilt coming over her like a punch in the gut. 

"I'll make a google doc," Strike says mildly. Robin makes a faint noise of agreement, finding it hard to look him in the eye. 

"So, ideas?" Strike pops a packet of crisps under her nose. 

Robin loves salt and vinegar. But in the end shakes her head. Matthew always makes a comment when she puts on a bit of weight. 

"I don't know," Robin sighs, tapping her fingers against the faded desktop. 

They have to pick a topic to present in front of the class: a job they've been putting off for about a week. 

An analysis of a couple's psyche in a relationship seems a little too on point at the present.

Although Robin is interested in unwinding her feelings right now, she's not interested in telling her whole class. And especially not her assignment partner. 

"Er, I'd appreciate it if we strayed away from topics surrounding trauma, or PTSD, if possible," Strike says quietly, his eyes steely and sad as he taps on his computer. 

Robin presses her lips together, as he chomps down viciously on a chip. 

"Sure," She says, even though her curiosity about him has once again roared it's head. 

Strike nods over at her, looking a mixture of relieved and grateful; although reluctantly so. 

He's a very private person. A quick uneventful search of his social media showed her as much. 

It feels clique, but it makes Robin feel a little special. That he's willing to expose little parts of his life to her. 

"I was thinking we should explore perspective," Robin crosses her legs under the table, "It would be interesting to analyze how a persons perspective can change after a single event,"

Strike leans back in his chair, considering.

"I like it," He says after a few seconds, and Robin smiles, "Do you have any examples?"

Robin could say a serious answer. Something they could actually do their assignment about. It's a pretty easy topic to make examples for after all. 

But her roommates goodbye to her this afternoon was a bit _too_ snarky. Her smile a tad too slimy. It makes Robin feel anxious in her own home, and she's really not enjoying it.

"Because Charlotte asked me about 'me' and 'you', and I'm pretty she's now watching me or whatever," Robin jokes weakly, purposefully losing his gaze to type a note in the doc he created for them.

"What?" Strike asks, obviously flabbergasted. 

Robin glances up just long enough to catch the shock and horror on his face before she looks back down to change the font on her sentence and back again.

"Yeah," Robin groans exaggeratedly, to hide her real discomfort, "I mean you think she'd be less concerned- I do have a boyfriend,"

_Maybe say it next time like you're not convincing yourself of the fact_ , Ellacott, Robin thinks to herself with an inward grimace. 

"Unfortunately Charlotte doesn't see relationships as a boundary," Strike rasps out darkly, "And she knows I didn't once either," His fist is clenched next to his laptop, his jaw working. 

"Right," Robin murmurs, not quite knowing what she thinks about that. 

The mysterious guy has a mysterious past- a terrible past maybe.

She's never had any respect for cheaters.

But then again... she's thinking of Strike in a sexual way. Staying up at night to chat to him. Isn't that, in some way, cheating?

Robin worries at her bottom lip, her emotions storming inside of her.

"I'll talk to her," Strike says forcefully, his eye contact fierce, "Tell her to stop,"

" _Don't_ ," Robin says quickly, her voice squeaking at the murderous look in his eye, "Really, it'll just make it worse," She smiles warily, wishing she never said anything.

"Tell me if it does," Strike makes no attempt to draw the conversation back into lighter quarters. 

"She's not that bad," Robin back tracks weakly. She just wanted to see his opinion. She didn't expect things to get so serious. Should she start sleeping with a knife or something?

"Promise me Robin," Strike leans across the table, placing his hand a hairs breath away from her own. His hand is like a giant paw, and would probably completely cover her own. 

Robin nods numbly, studying the short hairs on-top of his fingers with fascination. It's the first time he's used her given name. His dark, coarse accent makes her rather breathless. 

"Can I ask- _Why_ are you living with her?" Strike asks, looking adorably confused, "She's awful, you're not like that," Robin watches as his adam's apple bobs; like he feels he's said too much. 

"I needed a roommate, quickly," Robin scrapes nothing from under her perfectly clean fingernails, "I didn't really feel like I could say no,"

Charlotte's cold hard cash and promise of a hasty move in was just too good to be true.

"Why didn't you move in with _Martin_ or whatever," Strike asks roughly. Robin feels he got her boyfriend's name wrong on purpose. 

"Because I didn't want to," Robin says simply, her cheeks pink. 

She's told that to anyone before. Not even to her mother. 

Strike scratches the back of his neck. Robin can tell he has no idea what to say to that.

Which is fair- she wouldn't have a clue either. 

"Please tell me, if she ever makes you feel unsafe," Strike almost begs her. And Robin's known him long enough to know he's not someone that pleads lightly. 

"I will," Robin says, brushing her finger tips lightly over his own, "I promise," 

"Good," Strike finally seems satisfied, and reaches for another chip. 

Robin takes a large gulp of her coffee, not even noticing her burnt tongue. 

Is she going to make it through this semester alive? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
